


Infected

by justanothermaniac



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Drunk Sex, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Sex, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Sibling Incest, Twincest, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2021-01-14 15:30:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21108662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothermaniac/pseuds/justanothermaniac
Summary: "There's nothing more contagious than laughter."





	Infected

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MylenaVanilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MylenaVanilla/gifts).

> This is for the sweet Datolya who sent me the idea on tumblr.
> 
> "Drunk and/or high Jerome emotionally fucks post-spray Miah and guilts him about their childhood. What 'emotional' means to the twins is on you."
> 
> Tbh, there's so many directions I wanted to take with this but in the end I chose the kinda sappy (?) one. I might upload another chapter here where I go about it a different way but I'm not sure about that yet. I really hope it's at least somehow the way you imagined, dear!
> 
> As always, enjoy, my lovelies but also, beware.
> 
> ~ jam 💙

His vision is swimmimg, like he's underwater. He remembers the lake they stayed at once, the sunlight shining through the surface as Jerome stared up, his lungs burning. He remembers how he never wanted to emerge. He tried to stay under as long as possible, until the drumming in his ears and the pain in his chest forced him back up, water sloshing around him as he gasped in air. "It hurt, y'know."

His speech is slurred and he hates it. He hates getting drunk and yet, he can never find it in himself to stop once he starts. His body, his mind, his _soul_ are always yearning for more, to keep drinking, to keep numbing the throbbing wounds within. It runs in the family. "Wakin' up that mornin'. Alone."

He shudders as he runs his tongue up Jeremiah's neck, tasting hot, salty beads of sweat. His thighs are trembling beneath Jerome's fingertips and Jerome tries to focus on the feeling, but he's floating, barely registering his brother's gasp and the hushed words. "Why...why are you -?"

Jerome silences him with a bite, the words dissolving into a moan. Jeremiah didn't question it when Jerome suddenly appeared in his room, swaying, quite clearly intoxicated. He didn't question it when Jerome pushed him up against the wall and kissed him, no banter, no fistfight, no blades, which is unusual enough. Jerome himself finds it weird, his switchblade tucked away inside the pocket of his pants, discarded somewhere in the dimly lit room.

He's not sure what prompted this, but fuck if he cares. He needs it and Jerome _takes_ what he needs. Another trait that runs in the Valeska family. "There was, ah...a, a sting. In my chest", Jerome hears himself murmur. He thinks Jeremiah tenses up but he doesn't care.

He's feeling the sting right now, too. He always does and maybe, just maybe, if he talks about it, if Jeremiah _knows_ then it'll finally go away. "And I knew. Somehow I knew ya weren't gonna come back."

His nails sink into Jeremiah's flesh and he arches his back, his eyes closed tightly. Were they open? Jerome could've sworn they were open, wide and clear, like he understands. Does he?

No. He can't. How could he? _He's the one who chose to leave. _

Jerome rakes his nails down, leaving Jeremiah whimpering and squirming. "But I asked Lila anyway._ 'Where's Miah?',_ I asked her. And she said -!"

He blinks, his vision clearing but it's not Jeremiah he sees. He's staring up at his mother, he feels the sting as fresh and clear as ever before, his chest tight with fear, his heart beating too fast. Lila is frowning, lips pressed into a thin line and her eyes are bloodshot from substance abuse and swollen from tears.

Jerome feels his chest bubble with laughter. "She said it's none of my business." Jerome is still laughing as his stomach starts burning hot with anger at the whore's audacity. He remembers the temper tantrum he threw that day, smashing everything he owned, kicking and biting until Uncle Zack pinned him to the floor with his weight. He remembers the belting he received and laughs louder, burying his face in the crook of Jeremiah's neck. "Can ya believe that, baby bro? _You_ being _none of my business?"_

He thinks Jeremiah's fingers are too gentle as they find his hair. It's uncharacteristic. Jeremiah, as a result of the gas, is defiant to the very core, he'll snarl and bite and scratch and make Jerome break him down piece by pretty piece until he finally gives into the sinful pleasure.

Jerome lifts his head again and shoves two of his fingers in Jeremiah's mouth. He gags a little at the surprise and Jerome starts thrusting the fingers in and out. It's uncoordinated, clumsy but at least he feels the familiar jolt of pain when Jeremiah's fingernails dig into his scalp. _Much_ better. _This,_ he knows how to handle. 

"She told me what you told her", Jerome mutters, watching in fascination as his fingers dis- and reappear, coated with his twin's saliva, his beautiful lips puffy and the cherry red lipstick smeared. "And that I'd never see ya again. That you're safe from me." The words leave a bitter taste on his tongue. He repeats them. "Safe...from me..."

The taste fades and Jerome giggles, ripping his fingers from Jeremiah's mouth. He gasps for air, blinking up at him rapidly. He looks confused. But there's something else there, something soft and vulnerable that Jerome _strongly_ dislikes because it doesn't _fit,_ just like that gentle touch from before didn't fit. "Jerome...what -?" 

His voice is more breath than sound, a tiny tremble to it that sends a pleasant shiver down Jerome's spine.

Oh.

_Oh._

He likes this. He thought he didn't like it but he _does._ His stomach twists into a tight knot, his lungs closing up. He thinks it's Jeremiah's feeling. Good. _Very_ good.

Jerome pushes Jeremiah's knees up. "It hurt like hell." He thrusts his fingers into Jeremiah's hole, too fast, too rough, he knows it but the way Jeremiah's body jerks and the grip on his hair tightens makes it perfect. "Every second. Every day. But the nights, _fuck,_ those were the worst."

Jeremiah is writhing beneath him as he's being stretched, lips parted as they let out numerous high-pitched little whines. Jerome's head is heavy but he tries to focus, to revel in the beautiful display like usual. But the _sting_ is still too strong. "Hugged your pillow. Clutched it to my chest, pretending it was you."

He thrusts in another finger, dry unlike the other two, prompting Jeremiah to choke on the breath he rapidly sucks in. "And I kept thinkin'..._'come back to me, please, Miah, I need you',_ over and over, repeated it in my head, hopin' you'd _hear_ me."

Jeremiah's eyes snap open, finding Jerome's gaze but he's still flickering in and out of focus like a camera lense. He lowers his mouth to Jeremiah's jaw, not kissing, not biting, just feeling. "Until I was..."

He stops. Cackles. _"We_ were thirteen." Twisting his fingers, he follows with his mouth when Jeremiah throws his head back. "I was curled into a ball outside the trailer, early in the mornin'. The grass was wet and I was so cold that I could feel it in my fuckin' bones. Uncle Zack was _goin'_ at it and I tried to shield myself from his kicks. Ya remember those cheap ass, nazi-lookin' black boots the fuckstick always wore?"

Jeremiah doesn't answer but it's not like Jerome expected him to. "I remember that...for a while, I couldn't hear anything. And it was like...like everythin' slowed down. And then I heard this cracking noise."

Jerome removes his fingers from his brother's entrance, his cock hard enough that it hurts. He wraps a hand around it with a low hum as he positions himself. "At first I thought that, that it was my ribs. But I knew what that sounded like." He rubs the head over the tight ring of muscle in a circling motion. Jeremiah curses under his breath, clawing at the sheets. Jerome doesn't remember the grip on his hair disappearing.

He takes in his brother's flushed cheeks, the silky green hair plastered to his sweaty forehead as he pants. He wants to revel in it but his sight is still swimming, even worse than before. Jerome isn't sure what's happening, so he does what he always does when in doubt.

He laughs. He thinks Jeremiah is trying to speak but the red lipstick wears off completely. Why? It's not right. Jerome laughs louder. _Focus._

Green becomes red. Freckles start to bloom. Glasses knocked askew. Jerome holds his breath. Time is slowing down again, just like it did back then.

He remembers how calm he felt before something burst within him, the crack unleashing something. Something wonderful. "No", Jerome utters, so quietly that for a second, he doubts he even said it. "It wasn't my ribs."

He pushes the tip of his cock in. Jeremiah's breath hitches. "It was my mind."

Jeremiah arches his back as Jerome snaps his hips forward, buried as deep inside his brother's ass as possible. He moans at the tight heat, eyes closing. He's staring up into the sky, the wet grass beneath him, feeling the tingle of his skin, the surge of emotion, the taste of _freedom. _

A grin pulls at the corners of this mouth. A real one. For the first time that evening. "And I started laughing."

He sets a pace, fast and brutal. He still feels dizzy and a little wobbly but_ fuck,_ Jeremiah is whining so deliciously, his hands coming up to cup Jerome's face, an oddly sweet action Jerome finds he can't get enough from. He manages to clear his vision enough to see the tears spilling from his brother's closed eyes and somehow, he knows it's not from the rough treatment he's receiving.

"I started laughing so _hard."_ Jerome leans down more, forehead pressing against Jeremiah's. "And it hurt, which, which made me laugh even harder. I couldn't stop. A-and Uncle Zack, he..."

_The kicks stop abruptly, a confused grunt filling his ears and Jerome's throat hurts from the sheer otherworldly high-pitched laughter as wide, fearful eyes stare down at him like he's a hissing demon crawling from a grave. _

"He froze. He stared at me, absolutely _terrified."_

Jerome realizes it's not the memory. He's laughing _right now,_ in absolute hysterics, his grip on his twin's legs definitely going to bruise. _Good._ "And I just kept on laughing! Because..."

His movements become quicker, sharper, drawing a scream from Jeremiah's throat when Jerome keeps hitting his prostate. "Because _you_ left me with no _choice!" _

He sinks his teeth in Jeremiah's neck again, his stomach still churning painfully, his chest laced up by guilt. Jeremiah's guilt. It's a glorious feeling, it feels like _justice,_ a gratification he never deemed possible and he snickers, lips still pressed to the pale skin.

But the sting is still here. _Why_ is the sting still here? 

Jeremiah releases a sound somewhere between a moan and a sob before Jerome feels arms around his neck. Clinging to him, shaking as they do. "Jerome..!" Jeremiah's lips graze over his earlobe, his rapid breath hot against his skin. "I'm...sorry..!"

There isn't a hint of mockery in Jeremiah's voice, and the fact that he says these words at all is so unexpected that Jerome believes his alcohol-infected brain made them up.

He shivers when Jeremiah presses his lips to the side of his face, to a spot that isn't numb but overly sensitive instead, his skin heating up. "I'm sorry, brother..!"

The sting travels through his entire body like an arrow before it splinters, filling his entire being up with pain for the fraction of a second.

And then it's gone.

Jerome gasps, clutching at Jeremiah like he could disappear <strike>_again_</strike> any second. It's gone. The sting that's been the only constant in his life for the last fifteen years, reminding him of the worst day he's ever had, that _one bad day_ that was his turning point, is _gone._

Jerome isn't laughing. Instead, he kisses his brother, heated and desperate, pouring his entire soul into it. Jeremiah moans into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair once more, not gripping, not tugging, but gentle, like before.

Only this time, Jerome finds it doesn't bother him in the slightest. 


End file.
